


The Universe is Not Kind

by orphan_account



Category: Hermitcraft
Genre: Angst, Kinda hurt/comfort but not really, TFC is Herobrine NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT IT, This is pretty angsty, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He has been around for a very long time.The first thing he ever knew was that the universe was not kind.That statement has never been disproven.





	The Universe is Not Kind

At first, he was just an observer.

He saw many things.

Many horrible, horrible things.

At first he had cried. Screamed. Begged for the universe to stop. To be kind. To them- to the ones that lived their lives out in misery- and to him. 

To put him out of his misery.

To forgive him for whatever heinous act he had done that had caused him to be punished like this.

And the universe didn’t listen.

He learned that very quickly. 

The universe didn’t listen. The universe didn’t care. Not for the people in the world’s he saw, not for him, not for the other two like him. 

The other two faded quickly.

He never knew what exactly happened to them. He didn’t care, at that point. They tried to tell him to just give in. They tried to tell him that the universe was kind.

They were liars.

And he was the only one that remained.

...

Then, one day, he found he was more.

He could move. Could interact. Could jump between worlds. 

He could escape.

He was ecstatic. Heart pounding, he jumped to the first random world he could find; and he went tearing through it. He could touch, he could smell, he could taste- he could do so much more than observe! He was so much more! He was free!

He went to the people of the world- the ‘players’ to share his good fortune, to show them how he could shape the earth in so many more ways that they could, to show them he could help them and teach them and maybe they could be friends-!

But they flinched away.

And they ran away.

And when they couldn’t run, they attacked him; not even giving him a chance to explain himself.

The universe was not unaware of his escape. The universe was not kind.

So he wouldn’t be kind either.

The second time he tore through the world, he was filled with a different, fiercer, more violent joy. 

The ground ruptured. Mountains exploded. Forests burned.

The world bowed before him, spires of bedrock splitting the earth in two. Gravity had no hold on him. 

The universe’s laws had no hold on him.

He bowed to no one. Not the universe that created him and then enslaved him to be a pawn in its game. Not the universes other playthings that were so blind in their love for it that they wouldn’t see past it’s lies even when the truth was right in front of their faces.

He destroyed his first world, and his rage was infinite.

...

Then, he was a wanderer.

He jumped from world to world, shaping them how he wanted. Destroying what the universe had created so carefully. Killing the ‘players’ who ran from him. 

And they all ran from him.

They had heard the stories about him. 

The stories spread faster than his fire and the fog that leaked out of the corners of his mouth and eyes. 

They had given him a name.

Herobrine.

He had never had a name before.

He would make sure that everyone who heard it trembled.

And he did. Worlds crumbled. Players and villagers and mobs perished. 

The universe ignored him.

And he continued on.

...

Then, something changed.

He arrived in a new world, eyes still stinging from the smoke of the previous one, hands still stained by soot.

There was one player in front of him, sitting on the fence of their farm and cradling a chicken in their lap.

They didn’t see him.

That just wouldn’t do.

He floated over to him, the fog rolling in.

The player could see their breath now, and their eyes widened as they turned and saw him-

And... grinned?

He stopped, hand almost fully outstretched to wrap around their throat. 

What?

“Hey.” They said, looking him up and down.

“You aren’t screaming.” He said, letting his hand drop to his side.

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Should I be?”

“Everyone else screams. And runs away.” He let himself sink to the ground. He was still taller than them. Still intimidating. He should just kill them right now, for their insolence, he decided. For daring to look him in the eyes and have a conversation with him. 

“Well, I’m not everyone else.” They said, petting their chicken. “And to be completely honest, I didn’t think you existed.”

“What?” He barely stoped himself from stepping back, instead putting his hands on his hips. 

“I thought you were just another fairytale. Yanno, like the Aether and stuff. And the Twilight Forest.” 

He frowned. “How incredibly rude.”

They laughed. “Sorry, dude.”

“Dude?”

“How else should I address you? Mister Herobrine, sir? It’s not like you’re any different from me.”

He grinned sharply, rising into the air a few inches. “I am very much different than you.”

“So you know a couple of fancy tricks. That isn’t that big of a deal. You can’t make as good of a pumpkin pie as I can.”

And he was brought to the ground again, utterly dumbfounded. This conversation was the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

Still, he pulled himself up. “I think I could make a better pumpkin pie than you.”

“Bet?”

“What?”

They laughed, and hopped off the fence, beckoning for him to follow them. “I’ll take you up on that challenge. I’ve got two ovens inside. We’ll see who’s pie is the best.”

They went in.

They expected him to follow.

What could he do?

He went inside.

...

Then, he was... 

Confused.

Sometimes, the players didn’t run.

Sometimes they talked to him.

Sometimes they sought him out.

Sometimes they traded with him. Made deals for things they couldn’t get otherwise.

Sometimes they still tried to kill him, and sometimes he destroys their worlds, but it... didn’t quite feel the same.

He didn’t quite feel the same.

He liked some of the players he had talked to.

They were nice. 

And the universe had been just as uncaring to them as it had been to him.

Yet they still believed in it. They still were kind to others. 

Admittedly, they hadn’t spent as long as he had getting screwed over repeatedly by the universe, but still.

Things were different.

He kind of liked it.

...

Then, the universe was cruel.

He tried to jump to a new world, and found himself caught in the void where he had been for so long, so long ago.

He was stuck.

Trapped.

Again.

No.

No, no- NO!

He screamed.

...

Then, he was a collector.

Players could travel between worlds too, he had learned on his travels, although it was a very slow and painful process (because it involved them dying and giving up on going back to the world that they were from).

He saw those departing players, and he... collected them.

And he was a little bit less lonely.

He could only interact with them, as they were traveling through the same void he was, waiting to be put into another world by the universe or whatever, and nothing else.

So he collected them.

Most of them, he let go eventually. They didn’t age when they were with him, and they were asleep so they weren’t bored or anything, but he felt bad.

He was trapping them here, just as the universe had trapped him...

He just didn’t want to be alone.

...

Then, he was freed.

He could move.

He could move!

He was more again. The universe had let him go again.

But he had done his time jumping worlds.

He had done his time being angry.

He wanted to rest.

He wanted to...

He wanted to have what the players had.

A home. Friends. A caring universe. The belief the universe was kind.

He couldn’t have that, but maybe he could have the first two.

He took the players he still had with him, and he jumped to an empty world.

...

Then.

Then he was TinFoilChef. TFC.

The strange man with greying hair and white eyes that insisted that they were friends.

And the others believed him.

They didn’t remember anything from their old worlds. 

They trusted him.

And they began to build together.

As friends. With him.

...

Then time passed. More people joined. Wars were fought. Alliances forged and broken- groups rising to power and falling just as fast.

He doesn’t remember all of it.

He is far too old to remember all of it.

He remembers the first few days ever.

He remembers facing down a killer on a bridge.

He remembers a cyborg stumbling into his base, half blind from tears, struggling to breathe through sobs- for the first time in his life, he is alone.

He remembers racing through a vault, chased by a man in a mask, laughing breathlessly and trying not to get tagged.

He remembers a poet dragging his half dead friend to him, begging him to bring her back. Just bring her back. Please. He’d do anything. It’s all his fault just bring her back-

He remembers sitting across from a man in full armor, being thoroughly beat in chess.

He remembers two men stained with bright blue blood coming to ask him for help because they tampered with forces outside of their control.

He remembers a bouquet of flowers, presented to him by a beaming woman who’s hands are stained with purple dye and who’s clothes are covered in pollen.

He accepts them with a smile.

...

In the end...

In the end, his friends, for the most part, do not believe in Herobrine.

He is fine with that.

He is done being Herobrine. Probably forever. He doesn’t need to be Herobrine anymore.

The universe isn’t kind, and he’s come to terms with that.

He doesn’t need a kind universe. His friends are kind, and he is kind now too.

The universe had nothing to do with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that I wasn’t quite coherent when I wrote this? Lmao
> 
> Anyway I have a lot of thoughts about the whole TFC is Herobrine thing that I came up with a while back... so here’s this! Yeah!


End file.
